fj: (phkl)
Horrible jet lag. Unable to go to the gym yesterday; after I came home from my job interview and the supermarket, I felt so tired I had to briefly lie down, and fell asleep at 6. Woke up at 10. Made dinner at 11.30 in a brain haze, went to bed at 1. Recruiters are calling me at 9.30 (two this morning) so at least I do not sleep in too much.

One of them was for a luxury woman's apparel website, and the email asks to respond with anything besides my CV that would indicate my suitability for the role. I wondered how to write down and back-up a professional version of "I am a style-obsessed homo." I sent my portfolio instead, it includes some concepts I did at previous gigs for Moms, and the PHKL.

Incidentally, no PHKL mail in months. I still have the top results in Google for "pink hello kitty laptop" and "hello kitty laptop", but the availability of officially licensed laptops is focusing the efforts of the computing 11 yo set better, I think.
fj: (UK)
Well, caught up on almost all paperwork. Unpacked.

Seems my furniture arrived in the UK while I was gone. Left a voice mail to follow-up, hope to get that delivered soon. Crack den no more! HSBC in the UK wants me to confirm I actually live where they have been sending me all my mail for months. WaMu in the US wants me to activate a new bank card from my home phone number. I don't see myself spoofing US Caller ID from the UK, so I guess I will have to call a human.

London was beautiful yesterday, little cloudy and humid today. Took a sleeping pill (Temazepam) at 2.30 AM to make sure I would get in the rhythm here, and boy do I feel like lead today. So hot last night I slept over the covers. They don't believe in ubiquitous AC for small rental units here. While I was on holiday I was considering moving somewhere cheaper, but now the effort involved tires me when even considering it. Or maybe that's the Temazepam.

I should get dressed, I am meeting with a company to talk about me taking a permanent job. Not sure I want one now. Mercenary life has its moments, like taking a whole month off like I just did, and I am being approached for new contracts.
fj: (Default)
It's sales here in London. Which in Selfridges, the Big Store for Upscale Designer Everything, especially on a Friday, is just like Pride: gay men everywhere getting dressed up, trying to find the best they can, and hoping nobody from work sees them. I went with [livejournal.com profile] iejw, which was really great because it is hard to find shopping buddies. Hard for me to shop for myself since 2/3s of my stuff is in transit so I am not sure what I need.

Then we went to my place where I stacked open whole-grain rolls with salmon or prosciutto, tomato, orange peppers, spinach, hard boiled eggs, and cheese and put them in the oven to melt. And then left for SoHo again to go to a birthday party in a bar. I like living just a 20 minute bus ride from the center.

And I got tons of socializing done before the weekend had even started, so I am all relaxed now. I have been pretty open and relaxed about life right now. I have the whole traveling to Germany down now, I have been finally paid and have more coming. I am a bit worried about where the next gig is coming from, about how my expenses are structurally too high while I am going to indulge myself with a trip, about how I probably should move to a cheaper area, about how I still haven't received an electric bill, but largely I am ok with this all.

Weather's been pretty nice everywhere. I sleep on the meadow in Vauxhall in the sun when I can.
fj: (travel)
Whether Turkey or Gemany won tonight doesn't matter, as I live in a Turkish neighborhood in a German town: I'll be lucky if I sleep before 2 AM.

Edit: Oh awesome, firecrackers!
fj: (travel)
I slept almost on schedule in Europe with chemical assistance, but obviously my brain was out of sync; twice a day I would get to a point where I just had to allow myself to sink into hypnagogia for ten minutes or so before I could function any further. Well, allow... there was really no stopping it, if it was that time of day and I was sitting down. To everyone it looked like I was sleeping in a chair very briefly. This included the first 3 days that I was on Pro Vigil by day.

Been back since Wednesday and all I got for sleep was two hours here and 5 hours there while I tried to get back in sync. Last night I finally got sleepy at midnight, a reasonable time. I woke up 20 minutes ago.

I can't remember ever having slept that long. You would not believe the siz of the smoothie I am sipping on.
fj: (Default)
Scene: the patio of a dark gay bar. On the podium a parade of flexing bodybuilder porn stars. Me and him are on the edge of the crowd of gawkers and photographers, not paying that much attention.

Him: (cute giggle) "Oh, and I hear your fur is getting shiny and thicker."
Me: (snicker) "Yeah, and I hear I'll shed less too." (Pause. Thinking. More serious, surprised) "Actually, I am shedding less."
Him: "You can tell?"
Me: "Yeah, I am thinking of the bathroom drain right now and there's just been less hair in it when I think of it. Good lord. I actually am shedding less."



Actually, there's another thing happening. 16 months ago, stressed from the sudden move, sudden job, a car that didn't fit, and temporary digs, I hurt a small muscle in my back during a back exercise in the gym. Working with [livejournal.com profile] omohyoid a few weeks later we found out that the damage would not impact any actual lifts as long as I engaged all my other core support properly -- it seems this muscle is really only useful for minor movements. It just didn't heal, though, all this time. I'd be ok and then make a movement and it would be in pain all over again. Well, it's almost gone now, in just weeks, and the only changes in this time were that I had a recent consult and review with [livejournal.com profile] omohyoid, and the damn flax seed oil.
fj: (Default)
People now are talking to me about "your ex".

I have recently been referred to as "FJ!! from LA".

Boy things change.

-*-*-*-

In more direct news, they let us out early today. I should be heading out and shop for the week and look up people I hear are going to be at Outfest tonight, but getting up from my desk here at home seems impossible, even to take a nap.
fj: (Default)
Everything is better if you add 'With Yoko Ono.' at the end.

I am at the Michigan Women's Festival. With Yoko Ono.

I am in jail. With Yoko Ono.

I am stuck in an airplane on a tarmac for the last eight hours. With Yoko Ono.

I think I am going to start a gay hook-up MVNO. With Yoko Ono.

My cat keeps whining at 5 AM. With Yoko Ono.


Oh, ok, actual content then; while we are on the subject, an Oliver update. First of all, Twinkie still hates him. This is good. We couldn't do a proper phased separate rooms acclimatisation since we live in a loft, but I doubt it would have helped. Twinkie is the cat, after all, that consistently, every day, for ten years, picked a fight with the sweetest most docile cat I have ever known, who was twice her size and would always end up knocking her over in the end till she ran away screaming. Every day, the same way. In fact, the couple of months were Piruli was too sick to go for it, and after his death, she was not doing well. Now dear Scarlett O'Hara has somebody new to be pissed at, and I swear she is sleeker, more alert, and more gorgeous than ever. I think the white parts of her fur are even whiter. I am not kidding. She rules the house, owns everything, and makes great displays of being all over us.

Oliver, so so. He was all Mr. Dude when he walked in, but he misses cat contact. He wants to play with her. She growls and hisses at him to stay the fuck away. He's still Mr. Dude with us, and he seems happy most of the time. His coat is clean, his eyes are bright, and he is full of wonder. He'll even let our carpenter vacuum him. He loves the carpenter. He loves being up high and has perfected his ascent onto the HVAC ducts. However, he is not Mr. Dude enough to rule the house. It expresses itself that at night, when he is hungry, he whines until someone will sit with him to eat. At 1 AM, around 4.45AM, and 6.30AM. If no one comes, he will keep whining. When you sit with him and pet him while he eats, he constantly looks over his shoulder, like he is nervous at night. Of her. Putting a bowl of food high where he knows she can't reach doesn't help: he wants to eat from the big bowl she eats too. With company. Else he whines.

Basically, it is like having a nursing baby on my hands. The cat psychology people I read up on online say we have now created a habit he needs to be broken of. I have no idea how, he whines right through ear plugs. The one cat psychologist who was consulted through a friend says we are basically screwed. But she also seems to think that we did a horrible, horrible injustice to Twinkie by bringing another cat into her domain in her old age, so I kinda think the cat psychologis thinks we deserve it. I guess we should have mentioned that when alone, Twinkie whined at night for hours too, and seemed to be getting more neurotic by the day. Scarlett needs someone to dislike.

I am thinking of locking Oliver in the bathroom at 5.30 AM when he starts, with the litterbox and food and water. Couple of nights of that, maybe he will be ok. Yeah. With Yoko Ono.
fj: (Hector The Protector)
Ok, usually I don't think dream posts rank very high on the interesting scale, but this one I can write up to not be an introverted mess. And I am not making any of it up. It was an early morning dream, close to my standard time for waking up, which means my brain was starting to get ready for the day, a little more primed to remember, a little more ready to be active.

I was talking to a woman who looked like that nurse with the short hair on "The Flying Doctors", who was also later on "Farscape", telling her the standard story I tell all Aussies about how everyone in the Netherlands now think Down Under is one big wasteland of tiny villages with beautiful doctors in Cessnas, and we were laughing about it. I looked around the landscape we were travelling in -- gliding in something it felt, was I flying, was she? -- and I saw a strange animal float by, and away again until it was tiny. I said something, that I wanted to see it again, and it came back, closer, so I could make out what it was. A huge flying fish, floating in the breeze. I recently saw an anime with this image in it, which is probably why that neuron was firing, but, the thing is, is that fish, floating around in the air as if they are swimming, the boundary between the normal above-water world and their aquarium dissolved, is a dream image I ponder when I am awake. So I was triggered into lucidity.

"I am sorry, but I am dreaming, and I have to explore something else. Catch you later." And I flew away. Dream flying is a behavior I have pretty much mastered, I wake up often remembering having done it, in many situations, even if the dream was not lucid. It is alsmot second nature by now, and I am really overcoming my fear of flying very high. The physics of it are stable these days, I have focussed on it for a long time.

And I said I would fly into my future. I wanted to see what I chose to be in my future. And at that point I think I lost most lucidity. and just had a remaining nagging feeling this was not normal.

So what was my house like? It seems that in my future I live in some misformed version of the summer house we lived in for a year when we just moved back to the Netherlands and were looking for a real house. (I was nine.) My job seemed to be genetic designer, I was told by the inhabitants when I said I wasn't me but past-me, and I looked around and strange little pets were running around: fluffball puppies with bird beaks filled with row upon row of teeth, visible when they yawned, and odd yet cute remixed bunnies. I had also made for myself a really devoted, blond, green-eyed slave guy, more besotted than Wayoun on ST:DS9, and I remember wondering why the hell I did that. There's no joy in that conquest; of course he loves me, I made him to love me. Cute though, if way on the skinny side for me. I petted him, and he seemed confused by what I asked him about himself. Devoted, pretty, and dumb. I gave him a stick to play with and he liked being given something by me so he played. And who were these people I lived with? I went downstairs to my bedroom and found I also had some normal pets: two cats on my comforter. And four dogs underneath it, I found when I pulled the comforter away. Four.

I found out I fulfilled at least one sexual fantasy as the evidence both said hi to me, but those twin guys just didn't even look super handsome. I remember thinking that even in the future fantasies ended up not being perfect when you get to do them. In the future I live in a distorted brown-wood, faux-birch laminate-furniture appointed, extruded, depressingly bog-standard northern european holiday bungalow, in an extended friends group, with a slave, some fuckbuds, and enough pets to qualify me for closer scrutiny by the Department Of Health.

Then I went upstairs again, and I made fun with Farrah Fawcett about her doing a choking move on me that was to cliche for words so of course I got out of it. Then I got in a fight with Linda Evans, so I spilled wine on her silver silk shirt. I am not making any of that up.

I think my subconcious was telling me through random firings of neurons that in the future, I might still be really, really, homo gay.
fj: (tech)
Gawd I am a wreck after this weekend. No booze, no drugs, and no sex should not leave a person feeling this wiped. Some days clean living just isn't worth it.

In other news, I keep getting emails from several support positions at exonome.com like management, support, helpdesk, and services, to tell me that my account has irregularities in all sorts of ways. If I could just please open the attached zip file to correct it all. Unfortunatly, comforting as the thought is that there are all these people there looking out for my best interest, exonome.com is a vanity domain maintained entirely by me on some hosted server somewhere. It seems these cruel worm writers get their kicks by dangling all these friendly support people I actually do not have in front of me, teasing me about me being all my lonely self, back unwatched, account un-managed. Oh how I hate this psychological warfare!
fj: (health)
No physical therapy tomorrow. I was sent home after 7 weeks with extra exericses to do and told to come back and work out in their gym ("Anytime, no charge") so they could see where I was at. I said I'd come back in two months, which was deemed ok. Have been incorporating their recommended exercises all through my workouts. We'll see if it has helped next time I am at a con/run and manage to stand around all day without leaning on [livejournal.com profile] bleepkeeper.

Goddammit, Kennedy Brothers have now taken away my excuse to touch [livejournal.com profile] bleepkeeper for hours.
fj: (travel)
So I am back on my home turf (eventhough by now I have lived longer in Boston than in Amsterdam) and I am thinking that we just have to go out because, you know, we're in Amsterdam! And then I think, wait, it's not like I went out every weekend when I actually lived here. And then I snuggle on the couch pretending I am a worldly local, and feel much better.
fj: (health)
Last week, in between conference sessions and jet lag and flying and irregular food and lying awake between 3 and 6 Am every night, I managed to get four of my five weekly workouts in.

Today I just can't contemplate hitting the iron. I feel too tired and sick. I keep telling myself that like the tiredness last week, I can work through this if I just go downstairs and start. No way. Not even if I decide to switch to a lighter day than what was scheduled for today.  I pushed too hard last week, all proud of my commitment to firmly not be a spud, and the chickens have come home to roost. Too much exercise is as bad as too little. I know this from experience, and I should have remembered it, kept it firmly in mind.
fj: (travel)
Today I went to the small section of the beach where gay men go. There are two such areas on the main strip of bech in front of Fort Lauderdale, and I went to the one where I could actually park, near NE 18th Street. I had a wonderful time lying on the sand in the shade of a palm tree while listening to the radio. I also wanted to frolic some in the surf, but the tides were just blowing massive amounts of seaweed to the shore, so being in the warm water with all these marine vegetation fingers coldly lapping at m feet was icky. I slept some.

These last three days here at the cheap Hyaat I have also been driving around  a lot, and enjoying the valet parking. They greet me when I come back and open the door for me. However, my car seems to be missing a hubcap now. Darn.

Flying back tomorrow, arriving at 3.25 PM. I hope I don't have too hard a time finding out where to return the car. The lot didn't seem to be close to the airport at all.
fj: (Default)
Stupidly I had parked outside Friday evening because it is closer to home, eventhough we have a nights-and-weekends subscription to the parking garage around the corner. This morning Dino said that I should wait a week to have the snow melt before I could get the car out of the snowbank, or, if we started now, we could have it out by tonight. I am through taking the bus to work, so I put on my ski clothes, some Israeli tank boots, and went out.

I started kicking the 2.5 to 3 feet snowbank to clear a tiny path to the car. That was hard work, but I made it. Then Dino arrived with a snow shovel we found unused in the common area. I started shoveling snow for perhaps the first time, I can't remember having done it before. The snow was powdery, hardly caked together, and my back is in good shape, rested and healed over the last months, my muscles are in good form, and my head was clear to co-ordinate it all. I had cleared enough of a space in front and to the left of the car in an hour or less for Dino to try to drive it out. He had to maneuver forward and back a bit in a mysterious sequence I can only suppose is part of midwestern folk magic geneteic-memory knowledge, but the car went out, and he drove it to the garage. Then I was alone in the big hole the car left.

And I realized I had only shoveled with one dominant arm and in one direction. I wanted to even it out, there was more left in me. And I saw that the car parked behind min could now drive forward into what had been my space and out the path I cleared if someone just shovelled the snow away in between it and the empty space where my car had been. So I started. And continued till it was done. Then Dino came back, and we walked home, and a driving minivan got stuck in an access road, so I motioned it to stop and shovelled a bit in front of it, and Dino's magic directed her out on her way. Then I shovelled some of the sidewalk.

But years of lifting weights puts you very much in touch with your own limits, so I knew when to stop and come inside.

I am strong, and this is what my body can do.
fj: (health)
So I walk past one of the vending machines here in the Nokia house, and I notice a new item between the Snickers and the PayDay: a PowerBar.

Well. Has health finally entered as a concept in the vending machine? While all candy costs fifty cents, the PowerBar is $1.65. I went for it anyway. And read the ingerdient list of this "sports bar"

High-fructose corn syrup, with added grape and peach concentrate, was the first ingredient, if I recall correctly. Those additives make total sense, of course, because what high-fructose corn syrup needs, is more fructose.

Next was oats. And more crap. So what is the fiber doing there if what you need is fast energy anyway? In any case, seeing that nobody at Nokia is about to run a marathon, one has to wonder about their use to us. There are some runners around in our joint, either on the treadmills at the company gym or outside, but even then.

From a nutritional point of view, I'd consider a bag of peanut M&Ms better food. Ok, so they are not fortified, but at least the protein and fiber make a substantial contribution, and, unless you are about to row four miles, if you are going to allocate your daily calorie allotment on sugar crap, at least make it nice candy that'll give you sme happy-neurotransmitter kick. If you can stand chocolate, of course.

- * - * -


Meanwhile, I stopped squatting (leg presses, ugh. No range of motion, but we muddle on.) and cut out any exercise that seemed to put stress on my lower back. No yoga. Matress finally fine-tuned. And I haven't had a bad-back episode in months. In fact, I walked (and did other things) my way through NYC, hours in SoHo, and even IKEA, and not a peep from my lower-back muscles. A little more healing and I may put some exercises back. But for now, I am very happy.

Schlorp

May. 19th, 2003 10:17 pm
fj: (Default)
Yes, it was one of those days. And being unable to work out due to a back episode triggered Saturday night, I have missed some stress-relief.

And thus, my sweet tooth is out of control. Haven't given in, but fuck, am I craving. Pure stress, I can feel it. I want my dopamine fix.
fj: (Default)
Little muscles in my back, right between my shoulderblades, hurt. I had Dino massage them last night. It sent us both to sleep way early. I thought it would be a good idea.

I can't be the only one who starts designing his ideal house when he wakes up at 4 A.M. and knows he shouldn't get out of bed yet. I love doing it, I just imagine a space and start filling it up. I love sprawling urban lofts, or tiny tiny appartments - like the two shows I watch on HGTV: This Small Space and Extreme Homes. I am currently working on a location recessed into a hill, two stories overlooking the sea. Included a great Olympic length lap-pool. But when I was up to five showers I just gave up and got up. Five showers is too much.

Magnificent view though, over the sea. Lots of glass.
fj: (Default)
Reading all the entries people write about their dreams -- [livejournal.com profile] thaaang slept with OBL? -- I wonder whether that new SciFi show "The Dreamteam" is going to get a cult following on LJ. I never post mine, they don't really interest me, eventhough I swear, I swear, last night in my head [livejournal.com profile] dedagda was being biologically assimilated Aliens 2-style -- limbs and veins sticking out of a ceiling, pulling him in -- by a hive. It was guarded by a cult that destested [livejournal.com profile] ultraboy, so they all mimiced like him as a form of hate and confusion, as we both went in to save the victims.

I have never met either of these two guys.

I never got to the end last nights action-adventure episode. My dream plots are usually good, but the pacing usually sucks and often ends prematurely. I have also had spectacularly constructed dreams from start to finish, but very few. Never a good score, though. Ah, the sadness of having no musical talent or training. I wonder if trained musicians have kick-ass soundtracks at night.

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Page generated Jul. 22nd, 2017 12:42 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios
July 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 2017